


Under Pressure

by Kirito_Potter, KrisRix



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Anal Sex, Art, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Fanart, Fuck Or Die, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multiple Orgasms, Pining, Porn With Plot, Public Hand Jobs, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 02:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20631794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kirito_Potter/pseuds/Kirito_Potter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/KrisRix/pseuds/KrisRix
Summary: I smirk at him, trying to raise an eyebrow. "Since when do you care about me, Baz?"His look of concern shifts into annoyance so fast, I'm surprised it doesn't give him whiplash. "Don't use my name, Gauge.""Fine. Since when do you care about me, Mesmeric?"





	Under Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this fic for so freaking long, and I'm delighted to present it to you all as part of the Carry On Mini Bang!! And most importantly, this fic was created as a collab with KrisRix, the most lovely human alive, who did all the wonderful amazing beautiful fantastic art as well as being a spectacular beta. If it weren't for Kris' input throughout this entire process, this would be a very different fic, and one not nearly as fleshed out as it is. Also a big thanks to logically-spockzilla on tumblr for doing some beta work as well. I hope y'all enjoy!

**SIMON**

It's been months since I last saw Basilton Pitch.

We were roommates at the Watford School for Young Heroes, and while we were there, I never let Baz out of my sight—he just seemed like the type to take advantage of the academy's training and use it to become a supervillain. There are plenty of villains in his family, so it wasn't too far-fetched an idea. But when school ended, and we graduated, and I went out and became a professional superhero, he did too. No robbery, no murder, no ulterior motives. Good all the way around, as far as I could see. So I left him alone; I deserved a break from him, after years of us butting heads.

I catch glimpses of him every now and then, and sometimes he's even on the scene with me, but we hardly talk unless it's vital, and our last case together feels like ages ago.

So when I careen around a street corner and nearly crash into him, I'm surprised to say the least.

Immediately, he's on guard, and I don't think he's even registered it's me before he's pinned my arms behind my back.

"Jesus!" I gasp, eyes wide.

Recognition clicks in his eyes, and he releases me. "Gauge. Why are you here?"

(The Gauge, of course, being my hero name. Davy helped me pick it out. Letting him have a say was the least I could do, considering he not only discovered my powers but gave me a full scholarship at Watford. I owe him everything.) (Baz is insistent on using our official names when we're all suited up like this, but it's better than hearing him call me by my last name in that hoity toity voice.)

"Probably the same reason you are, unfortunately," I sigh.

He scowls. "Figures. This bloke's a menace."

"Well, good luck," I say pointedly, and start to walk past him.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asks sharply.

"To find the villain," I respond, spinning on my heel.

"We'll take him out more easily if we work together," he snaps.

I know he's right, but I don't want to admit it. "I've got this."

"You don't," he groans, rolling his eyes behind his domino mask. (It's very sleek. I don't know who designed his costume, but the red mask is stunning. I often find myself latching onto his eyes—which I suppose is the intended purpose, so he can hold eye contact with his target.)

"Well, even if I didn't, which I do, I wouldn't ask you for help," I retort.

"What, like anyone else would work with you? I don't even think your girlfriend would put up with your stupidity," he spits. "Not that talking to all the pretty little birdies would be of much use anyhow."

"Don't talk about Agatha that way," I growl.

"I'll talk about her however I want."

There's a nearby scream, and we both look up, startled from our bickering.

“This is your stupid Marionettist’s fault!” Baz hisses, turning back to me.

I frown. “Davy has nothing to do with—”

“But he does!” He snarls, leaning closer. “He’s the one who changed the restrictions just last week!”

“Restrictions?”

“The restrictions on villain restraint,” he says in that tone of voice that automatically adds on an _ of course _ at the end of a sentence.

“I… have no idea what you’re talking about,” I admit.

He rolls his eyes at me behind his mask, and a few years ago I probably would have punched him.

“This bloke has been behind bars for years! But the revisions are so bad, they’re downright negligent,” Baz starts. “My mother put in the necessary measures to ensure this sort of thing wouldn’t happen." He's always comparing his mum to Davy. She was a powerful hero before she died, but she was also elitist, and when she was Headmaster she ran Watford with an iron grip. It's been years since she died and Davy took over, but Baz never stopped being bitter about it. "Marionettist dismantled those protocols. He insisted the resources were better spent on—” He tenses, turning away from me.

“What, realised you were wrong? Look at me when you talk to me, you wanker.”

“Use your eyes,” he groans, still looking straight ahead. “Honestly, how are you still alive? Pay attention and drop it.” He pulls his fists close to his body.

“Drop it?” I echo, scandalised. “You started it!”

He ignores me.

“Stop being such a baby!” I yell. “Just man up and admit you were wrong!”

I see the flash of light for a fraction of a second, then it hits me full force in the shoulder, sending me sprawling onto the concrete with a grunt. It takes a moment for my vision to clear, and when it does I see Baz gaping down at me in horror.

“I knew you were a moron, but really, Snow?” He looks more scared than annoyed.

I hear what can only be described as an evil cackle, and this time I watch the beam of light fly through the air. Baz leaps out of the way in the irritatingly graceful way he does everything. His cape fucking flutters with the motion, and I remember all at once why I hate him.

I try to push myself up on my elbows, but I can't find the strength and collapse back onto the ground, wincing. I've never been this done in by just one hit. My stomach is full of boiling, churning lava. Hopefully if I just lay here for a few seconds more, I can catch my breath. Yeah. Totally.

"Hey!"

Baz's voice rings out, and my drooping eyelids snap open, gaze shifting over to him almost instinctively. He has a way of getting people's attention, and I still don't know whether or not it has anything to do with his power. But he's not looking at me; he's staring straight ahead, expression fierce.

"**You're going to freeze for sixty seconds**," he orders, voice clear and loud. The power in his vocal cords is palpable, making the air thrum, but the message washes over me harmlessly.

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he turns and runs over to me, stretching an arm out. I'm momentarily distracted by the red palms of his gloves as he reaches for me, and I have to force myself to meet his eyes. He looks shaken—honest-to-god worried.

"Why didn't you just capture him?" I grunt, taking his hand. He tugs me to my feet, but I wobble a bit. My knees feel like gelatin.

"I couldn't just leave you like that," he mumbles.

I smirk at him, trying to raise an eyebrow so he won't see how badly I'm being affected. "Since when do you care about me, Baz?"

His look of concern shifts into annoyance so fast, I'm surprised it doesn't give him whiplash. "Don't use my name, Gauge."

"Fine. Since when do you care about me, Mesmeric?"

"Just—" he shakes his head, looking like he wishes he'd left me on the gravel. "I assumed you'd be a little more careful in a fight like this."

"Like this?" I ask, not sure what he means.

To my surprise, his face goes a shade darker. "After the brief I went through, not getting hit was my first priority. But you— you didn't even care."

I'm hesitant to admit my lack of preparation for this fight, but clearly Baz knows something I don't. "My brief was… not as in-depth, I assume."

His eyes widen. "How much do you know?"

"Uh…"

Baz looks to the villain, The Vixen, with panic written all over his features. "Sixty seconds is never enough," he groans. His eyes shine as he turns back to me. "If you're hit, you could die. You have six hours to…" The tips of his ears go crimson. "To, uh…"

"To what?" I ask, heart pounding frantically. If my life is on the line, why is he suddenly acting so bashful?

"You have to— you need to be intimate with someone."

The wording is vague, but his expression gives away what he's trying to tell me. I feel my cheeks flood with heat—and worse, my stomach does too. "I… uh…"

This time I see The Vixen start to move, shaking himself from his stupor before spinning on his heel and running.

"Shit!" I shout, not because it'll help the situation but because it's something to do, and start to run after him.

"Gauge!" Baz shouts behind me, but I keep sprinting.

If what he said is true, I don't have time to chat. Obviously, I need to stop this power, the one that's making me feel like someone dumped hot coals into my stomach. From my previous experience with superpowers, it seems like a good guess to think that if I just get this bloke unconscious, his power's effect will be neutralised. I can do that. A simple, easy-to-achieve goal. That's much less anxiety-inducing to focus on than everything else.

"Gauge!" Baz shouts again, coming up on my flank, and I nearly trip over myself trying to look back at him and his stupid black hair with all its flowing in the wind bullshit.

"What?" I growl, reaching up to pull the strap on my goggles tighter.

"You can't just start running," he hisses, closing the distance between us. (Damn his long legs.) "What's your plan?"

"To knock him out," I huff.

"That's not a plan!"

I ignore him, skidding around the next corner. The Vixen is making a beeline for a car, and I can't tell if it's his or if he's going to steal it. Either way, I can't let him get to it.

Raising a hand, I try to concentrate, slowing my run to a jog to push my energy into the tips of my fingers. I can feel my pulse pounding through my body, faint everywhere except in my extremities. I take a deep breath.

The air in front of The Vixen explodes.

Well, really it expands, so fast that the force of it sends him flying back. It gives me enough time to reach him, even on my shaky legs. (And they're very, very shaky.)

I come up behind him just as he staggers to his feet, grab him by the shoulders, and spin him round so I can throw a sucker punch. He stumbles back from the blow, eyes wide, and I move to grab him.

Before I can, a dark shape appears from behind me, pinning The Vixen to the ground in a millisecond.

"**You won't use your power for sixty seconds**," Baz—Mesmeric—hisses, eyes glinting.

The Vixen's irises go pale, but he continues to struggle.

My knees feel weak again, and I find myself staring at Baz's biceps as he struggles to keep the villain down. He may have a superpower, but it's not one that enhances any physical features, which means his toned muscles are all the real deal. Years and years of training. And it shows.

"Are you going to stand there, or were you planning to help me?" Baz spits, digging his knee into The Vixen's stomach.

"Um— I—"

The Vixen throws Baz's leg off and starts to roll out from under him. Yelping, I raise a hand. I manage to create a burst just strong enough to push him back in place.

Baz fixes his gaze on The Vixen, trying to keep eye contact, but he's smart enough to close his eyes so Baz can't control him again. He's starting to lift his hand, probably realising his sixty seconds will be up soon.

I know I should do something, but my mind is starting to fog up again. The warmth between my legs is quickly growing to rival a furnace, and it's hard to think about anything else.

"Gauge!" Baz snarls.

I grit my teeth, sucking in a breath, and kneel beside Baz. Lifting an open hand palm down over The Vixen's head, I try my hardest to focus on the bubble of pressure in my chest. I squeeze my hand into a fist.

The Vixen starts to wail, clapping his hands over his ears. I'm not surprised—I'd probably cry too, if the air pressure I feel when a plane takes off all hit me in less than a second.

I bash him on the side of the chin, and he's out cold.

**BAZ**

Gauge glares down at the wretch for a few moments, blue eyes glinting behind cold glass as he waits. I don't let go of the villain's shoulders right away, in case he bolts upright and starts to struggle, but after a few moments of Gauge's panting and staring, it seems clear that Vixen is out for the count.

"What the hell?" he snarls, and pushes his goggles out of the way for a moment, just long enough to rub the bridge of his nose, then drops them back on. (I'm tempted to scold him anyway.) (Hasn't his Marionettist told him by now how important secret identities are?) Gritting his teeth, he blusters, "It should… I mean, shouldn't it have…"

I put on my best unamused face. "Use your words."

He shakes his head, playing with his curls, and I watch him intently. His chest heaves, and I have a feeling it's not from the fight anymore.

He stands with no warning, and I catch a glimpse of his gloved hands, shaking slightly as he pushes himself up. He starts to pace back and forth, mumbling softly enough that I can't make out the words but loudly enough that it's infuriating to listen to.

"What's wrong?" I ask with surprisingly little malice.

"Shut up," he growls, catching me off guard, and shakes his head like a wild animal. "Shut up, shut up."

He turns and walks towards the nearest building, resting his forehead against the brick. I can't see his expression from here, but he's quite obviously upset about something.

"Gauge?" I call out hesitantly.

"Shut up!" He roars, and kicks the wall.

Immediately, he winces and clutches at his foot, whining quietly in pain. After a moment, he shudders and sets his foot down again, then walks between the two buildings. I watch as his body is swallowed up by the shadows of the alley.

I want to tell him not to go too far, to stay here until the police arrive, but he seems to understand because he stops walking and stares at the wall. I wonder what he's thinking.

**SIMON**

Fuck.

He said "be intimate," right? That's what he said? Meaning I'll die unless I… that can't be right. And yet, knocking The Vixen out didn't do the trick. I know it didn't, because I'm standing here with trembling thighs and a raging boner, and I have never wanted to shag someone this badly. (Not that I want to shag one person in particular. I meant in a general sense.)

Who could I even ask for something like that? Penny is like a sister to me, and Agatha and I have never considered… not that we're even together right now.

I'm so fucked.

The traitorous twitch in my suit at that thought is not helping.

I glance over to where Baz is still kneeling over The Vixen. He's watching me, like I'm some animal pacing in a cage or something.

I bite my lip.

**BAZ**

He's looking at me. Why is he looking at me like that?

**SIMON**

I'm going to have to be the bigger man and ask for help, aren't I?

**BAZ**

He starts moving closer to me, and I tense. What has he got in his head now?

He walks so slowly, dragging his feet like he'd really hoped he didn't have to come near me. His eyebrows are pinched, mouth drawn taught. Whatever he's about to tell me, he doesn't want to.

After what feels like an eternity, Gauge stops, standing just in front of me. He won't meet my eyes.

"Baz?" He asks quietly.

I don't bother to correct him. "What's going on with you?"

He swallows hard. "Could you help me?"

"Help you how?" I ask, still confused.

"Um." He blinks a few times, lashes brushing the inside of his goggles. "Can you… be intimate with me?"

We both flinch at the same time, though I suspect for different reasons.

"Excuse me?" I squeak, feeling suddenly lightheaded.

"Knocking him out wasn't enough," he mumbles, looking very solemn. "I still… I still feel like my insides are melting." He shifts his weight from foot to foot, and I do my best to drag my eyes away from the bulge I hadn't noticed before in his suit. "I don't really want to die."

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "Of course not, but— but why ask me?"

"Well you know, it's— I couldn't put a civilian in this position," he manages. "And at least this way I can't ruin any relationships, because we hate each other. So it can't get any worse!" He finally meets my gaze, eyes shining with hope.

"...I despise you."

"Exactly!"

I want to throw myself into the sun. "Don't be ridiculous. There are plenty of others who could—"

"I don't want to do this with anyone but you," he insists, and he sounds so sincere for all the wrong reasons.

Naturally, I hesitate. Of course I don't want him to die. And of course I don't want him out there being intimate with anyone else. But I can't just say yes like any sane person.

"Are you sure about this?" I ask, voice wavering slightly.

He nods frantically, and the look on his face is almost pained. "I— I don't think I really have the mental capacity to think through this for much longer than I have," he pants, face quickly growing redder. "You don't know how hard I am right now."

I think I have some idea.

"Look, just— will you or won't you? Please, Baz."

I take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment.

"Yeah. I will."

**SIMON**

"You— what?" I didn't expect him to give in so easily.

He stands, brushing off his costume, and gives me a withering look. "Don't make me say it again."

I nod frantically. "Yeah, okay, just— uh—" Glancing around for a moment, I find myself looking back at the alley. "In here." I grab his wrist and tug him into the darkness for some semblance of privacy.

He's glaring at me, and I can feel everything crashing down on me again in an icy wave of realization.

"Right… so…"

He huffs like he's annoyed, but his eyes dart away, and I have a feeling his heart is racing too.

"Look, Gauge," he starts, "we don't need to make this complicated. I'm guessing all you really need is—" He stops, and I watch as his cheeks take on a rosy hue. "You just need a release."

It takes me a moment to understand. "Oh. Uh. Yeah, that— that makes sense." And at this point, I'm willing to try anything to get the lava out of my veins.

"And that means we can just… get this over with," he adds.

"Of course," I agree. "It's the— the path of least resistance. Right?"

"Exactly." He purses his lips. "So… so we should… or, _ I _ should give you a release."

My dick twitches again, and I clear my throat to draw attention away from it. "By which you mean a— uh—" Neither of us can seem to get the bloody word out.

"Just—" He shakes his head. "Where's the zipper?"

I go blank for a moment. "Zipper?"

"For your—" His face goes even redder as he waves his hand in the general direction of my crotch.

"Oh," I say, like a knobhead. "Um, there's not— it's not really a zipper, exactly."

"Whatever it is," he sighs.

I hesitate for a moment. Then, carefully, I reach up to my collar and press the button there. With a soft hiss, my suit falls slack, no longer pressurised to fit my body. I slip the sleeves down my shoulders, then push everything down until it's just covering my hips. I can't bring myself to be the one who shows him my prick.

Baz is gaping at me like I'm a madman. "What the hell?" he asks, but I'm not sure he's asking me so much as just asking.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self conscious.

He bites his lip, and I'm fairly sure he's staring at one of my nipples. "I thought I was just going to zip open your trousers. How was I supposed to know you'd have to strip down completely for this?"

**BAZ**

As if the idea of getting Gauge off isn't arousing enough, now I get to see his chest on display too? I don't think I've ever seen him shirtless, even at school. I can't tell whether this is a curse or a blessing.

**SIMON**

"Does it bother you that much?" I ask.

He shakes his head slowly. "It's fine, just give a bloke some warning next time." Immediately, his face goes blotchy. "Not that there'll be a next time! I just meant—"

"I know," I squeak before he can continue.

He looks away for a moment, composing himself. “Should I…”

“Please.”

His eyes widen, and I wonder if maybe I spoke too quickly and sounded too eager, but my legs are quivering and I can’t stand it any longer.

“If you’re sure—”

“I’m sure,” I groan. “I’m dying here. Literally and from blue balls.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay. I was just making sure.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

He takes another deep breath and shakes his head, hair flying about his face for a moment as he psyches himself up. “Alright.” Then again, “Alright.”

Slowly, almost agonisingly slowly, he reaches for the collar of my suit, still around my waist, and starts to tug it down. I shiver a little at the feeling of it brushing against my skin. A blonde curl slips out, and he pauses, the tips of his ears going pink. I think it hits us both in the same moment that this is actually about to happen.

Baz squeezes his eyes shut for a second, then opens them again. He pulls the fabric down.

I'm mortified to admit my cock is so hard it bounces a little, like something out of a cheesy porno. I can't meet his eyes, but thankfully I don't have to, because he's staring down at my prick with an unreadable expression. I'm scared to even ask what he's thinking. Maybe he's comparing us? I wouldn't put it past him to mentally catalogue my length to use it as blackmail or something.

"I guess I should have asked if you had lube," he mutters, surprising me. I didn't think either of us would be composed enough for speech once my dick was out.

I lick my lips, then realise it probably looked sexual. "It's fine. I wank without it all the time."

He gives me a funny look, then darts his eyes away just as quickly, like prolonged contact will burn him.

His eyebrows pull down as he examines my prick with an almost uncomfortable level of focus. His expression has an uncanny resemblance to the one he would make in school during written exams, like he's trying to figure out a puzzling question.

"Can you just get on with it?" I ask, squirming.

He nods carefully, then clasps one hand in the other. I'm about to ask what he's doing when he pinches the end of a finger and pulls. The glove comes off, and he holds onto it in his other hand. His bare fingers are long and dark and calloused, but they don't look too rough. (Thank God.)

He takes a step closer, and I'm suddenly aware of how loud my heart is in my ears. He flexes his wrist like he's warming up. I'm frozen, feet glued to the ground.

Finally, his delicate fingers wrap around my cock.

I can't help the soft groan that leaves my mouth. It's such a soft touch, but it's scratching an unbearable itch nonetheless.

His fingers flutter against my length for a moment, unsure, before he starts to slide his hand up to my head. The motion is enough to draw a sigh from me, and I lean back to rest my head on the wall. His hand lingers, then moves down my shaft, until it brushes against my pubic hair.

Everything about this is light and careful and almost ethereal, like I'm having an out of body experience, but I know it's real because I can already feel my face growing warm the way it does when I wank at home.

He squeezes at the base of my cock with no warning. My hips buck into his grip on reflex. He hesitates, and I'm tempted to apologise, but he doesn't comment on it before moving up again.

I'm most sensitive at the head, of course, so when he starts rubbing his thumb over it, I feel tingles in my stomach. I try to still my hips, so I won't spook him again, and when he squeezes, I succeed—but I moan, loud and raspy.

He stops, and I want to cry.

Then, miraculously, he twists his wrist, changing the angle of his grip, and I shudder, moaning again. My toes have gone numb, and the muscles in my thighs are tight, and I know I won't last long like this. I'm not sure what about this is so different from when I normally wank, but it's absolutely glorious.

Baz starts to pick up his pace then, stroking up and down without stopping to play with my cock like before, back and forth and back and forth, fast and clean and smooth, and it feels like being under the water at the beach and letting the waves roll over you, only with fire, and I can hear someone groaning. I think it's me.

I find myself scrabbling at the bricks, trying to find something to hold onto before the tide sweeps me away.

"Fuck…"

Baz's hand doesn't slow, and I don't even know if he heard me.

"Fuck, yes. Good… it's so good. Fuck! Don't stop, please, please don't stop!"

My mouth is moving on its own, and I'm not sure if any of what I'm saying makes sense, but I can't think right now, only feel. Everything is so much.

"Yes! Baz!"

His hand falters for just a second. I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't gotten used to the rhythm of it. As it is, my hips twitch forward the slightest bit to try and make up for the loss. He recovers without a word, and the slight pause is enough to make it feel brand new again, overwhelming and too-much-but-not-enough and just good. 

His strokes keep pace for a while, maybe half a minute, until my legs are shaking and my cock is painfully hard and I can feel something white hot in my belly ready to send me crashing into the deep end.

"Baz," I gasp, eyelashes fluttering. He hesitates again, and I whine, the molten hot feeling gone all at once. "No!" I groan. "Fuck, I was so close, please! Baz, come on, just… Baz!"

**BAZ**

I'll never be able to hear my name the same way again. He keeps saying it, moaning it even. It sends a jolt through me every time. And seeing his expression… face pinched, eyelashes quivering, mouth open in a little 'o' when he's not babbling. I didn't think I could be more attracted to him.

Not to mention the skin to skin contact. I have to pride myself on remembering to take off my glove, because this is a feeling I'm going to save in my memory forever: the slide of my palm against his twitching, bobbing cock.

His head is dripping with precome, and it's started sliding down his length on its own, so every stroke smears it around again. It's absolutely filthy, and I love it. Plus I'm sure the added lube, if it can be called that, is making this better for him.

Gauge—no, I can't call him that right now. He's not even really wearing his suit; it's all bunched up below his hips, threatening to slide down his legs. He's not Gauge right now. He's just Snow.

Snow is all red: across his cheeks, down his neck, on his cock. It's beautiful. He's beautiful.

He makes a little choked noise in the back of his throat, high and desperate, and it makes me want to kiss him.

"Come on," he whines again, "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come!"

Fuck, I want to see that. I want to know what he looks like when he comes. I want that more than anything.

I move along his length as fast as I can, tightening my grip on his cock. My fist is making the most depraved sounds, precome squelching on every stroke, and it only makes me harder. I wouldn't be surprised if I came with him, just from having Simon Snow's cock in my hand.

**SIMON**

My stomach is full of flames, and I can't keep my eyes open, and my lips shake when I'm not moaning. I don't know if I've ever felt this good before, and all I can think about is how it'll feel even better once I come.

"Baz," I whine. "Please, fuck, I'm— I want to—" I can't get the words out, but I hope whatever psychic powers he has will be enough for him to understand.

He's already going so fast, every stroke seeming to blur into the next, but he turns his hand just a smidge and it's better somehow, even at the same pace as before. My hips buck into his hand again, but I can't bring myself to feel guilty when it's so good. I'm on the cusp of something incredible, but just getting there is the best experience of my life.

I grit my teeth, feeling something in my stomach flutter.

"Baz— I'm—"

My body is wrenched out of my control, and all I can do is shake and tremble and twitch. Everything feels white hot, and I can't think because everything in my mind is swallowed up by yes, yes, yes, yes! I want to collapse, to crumble to the ground, and let this feeling take over until I'm tired and numb.

Slowly, the twitching rolls to a stop, and I'm left out of breath with a softening cock and a pounding heart.

I wait a few seconds, panting and gasping. My eyes are still squeezed shut so tightly it makes shapes on the backs of my eyelids, but I'm already so overwhelmed that I don't trust myself to add sight to the equation just yet.

"Simon?"

My heart jumps at the sound of my first name, and I open my eyes.

Baz is watching me with a guarded expression. His hand is painted white, and I find myself staring at how bright it is against his dark skin.

"How do you feel?" He asks, voice soft like he's scared someone might hear.

"I…"

My voice trails off as I try to think of the answer. I’d nearly forgotten why I asked for this—the scratchy feeling, the slowly building dread from knowing this could kill me…

"I feel the same," I realise, heart sinking.

Baz's eyes look beyond murderous. "You what?"

"I feel hot and itchy and horny," I admit, shaking my head. "I felt incredible for a few seconds after I came, like I'd been washed clean. And then it came right back."

Baz huffs and wipes my spunk on the leg of my suit.

"Hey!" I protest.

"What the fuck," he growls, and it's not a question. "You're telling me that did nothing?"

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” I mumble, avoiding his eyes.

Baz shakes his head, eyebrows pinching again. “Well, I’m not just going to let you die, you absolute nightmare. It’d be a terrible way to go, anyhow.”

I bite my lip. “What are we supposed to do, then?”

“I don’t know yet,” he admits, expression dark. “Research, for now.”

“Sounds reasonable.” I hesitate, then add, “We could go to my flat?” 

He glances back at me, surprised, and I wince.

“I just…” I glance around. “It might be better to have a little more privacy.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, and I have to laugh.

“You just touched my prick, mate. I’m not too worried about you seeing my flat.”

Maybe it’s because I mentioned my dick, but it occurs to me that I’m still sort of naked. Flushing, I pull my suit up and press the button at my collar again. It seems to shrink, clinging to my shape.

“Come on,” I say, looking up. “We’re racing against the clock.” I remember the villain still passed out on the ground out in the square. "Uh, after the cops get here."

**BAZ**

Snow doesn’t bother to change out of his suit before we get to his flat, which seems like the stupidest way to go about having a secret identity, but I indulge him, and we somehow aren’t seen in our brightly-colored spandex. (His is brighter than mine anyhow.) Once I’ve locked the door behind us, we slip off our masks. He’s got little marks pressed into his face from the goggles, and it’s almost endearing, but mostly wince-inducing.

The main room is small, but not in a cramped way. There's a pair of chairs on either side of a coffee table, and a television is placed slightly off center on the far wall, just enough to not be noticeable until you really squint, at which point it's infuriating.

He flops onto one of the chairs, chest heaving, and I take a moment to look him over. He’s sweatier than I’ve ever seen him, and his face is flushed. Is Vixen’s power really so strong? I can’t imagine how uncomfortable he must be.

“Um… okay,” he groans. “Before I convince myself to just strip, let’s try to figure this out.”

“Right,” I say, sitting across from him. “Where to start.”

He pushes his hair back from his forehead, blinking a few times. “When Penny has a problem, she makes a list. Things we know and things we don’t.”

“That works,” I hum. “Okay. Things we know.”

“I’m going to die in six hours,” he grumbles, and I cringe.

“That’s what you open with?”

“It’s true.”

I do some mental math. “It’s been… what, forty five minutes since we fought him? So closer to five hours.”

He throws his head back to stare at the ceiling and lets out a pitiful whine. “Five hours to bone or I kick the bucket.”

“No, that’s for what we don’t know—we don’t know if you actually need to…” I clear my throat, feeling heat flood my cheeks. “We don’t know if you need penetrative sex specifically. Just that his power is somehow released by sexual acts.”

He tips his head back down, pouting. “And that in the meantime, I feel like I’m on fire on the inside and the outside.”

“Is it really that bad?” I ask, curious.

“I feel like I have five minutes to live, not five hours,” he moans. “And we’re not getting anywhere!” His eyes are wild when he looks at me. “We should just fuck and get it over with.”

The image of Snow and I in bed together flashes through my mind, and I yelp, blushing. “No!” I say before I can think too hard about it. “I’m sure there’s plenty of ways to free you while still keeping some of our dignity!”

He whimpers, clamping his thighs together. “Fuck, Baz, I need it so fucking bad. Please!”

I am never going to get his begging for me out of my head.

“I know there’s a better way to go about it,” I insist.

“Baaaz!”

He’s going to make me hard if he keeps this up.

"**Will you stop whining for five seconds?**"

His face goes slack, and I realise, horrified, that I've pushed power into my voice.

"No—wait!" I gasp. "I wasn't—"

He shakes his head, already waking.

"Sorry," I groan. "I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," he mumbles, but he's blushing.

**SIMON**

He's used his power on me before, but only when we sparred at Watford and I knew it was coming.

It can't be normal to get turned on by being bossed around.

**BAZ**

“How about this?” I start, putting my hands up as an apology. “I… I could try getting you off again. Worst case scenario, at least you’ll feel better for a little bit, right?”

Immediately, he sits up straight, wide-eyed. “Yes. Yes! Do that!”

I nod, taking a deep breath, and stand from my seat to walk closer. He starts pulling off his suit, clearly eager. I still can’t believe he’s going commando under the thing, especially considering how tightly it hugs his body. It must have some kind of built-in cup, both so he doesn’t show off his prick and so it doesn’t get kicked in.

I step closer once he’s got it off and lift a knee to rest it beside him on the chair. I don’t even realise I’m practically straddling him until I’ve done it. He hardly seems to mind, though—his cock looks painfully hard, pointing up to the ceiling and much too red to be healthy._ If erection persists for more than four hours, call a doctor, _ my mind recites, but I push it away. Hopefully it won’t take quite that long.

Even though I’ve already done this once, I have to psych myself up again. This is Simon Snow’s cock. For real. Not some wet dream version of him, or a fantasy I’ve created to wank to. It’s big, and thicker than I’d expected. There’s a little mole right near the base, and I want nothing more than to kiss it.

Instead, I slip my glove off again and take him in hand.

He shudders a little, and after a few strokes he closes his eyes again. Like this, I can watch him without seeming creepy. (This is so creepy.)

I start slow, squeezing his head on each upstroke. His hips jerk up against my hand, and he makes a soft noise.

“Ah… wait.”

I freeze, watching as he peeks out of one eye.

“As good as that feels, don’t you think we should try something different? Like you said, it has something to do with… sexual acts. So let’s cross another one off the list.” He flushes. “Uh—if you’re okay with that.”

I’m so okay with that.

Also I think I’m going to pass out.

“Yeah,” I mumble. “I mean—yes. Yeah. That’s a smart plan, actually.” Should I be snarky? If I’m snarky, it’ll cover up the panicked horniness. “For once in your life, Snow, you’ve had a good idea.”

“Thanks?” He clears his throat. “Well, uh… if you’re okay with it, then…”

I nod, pull my hand off his prick, and slide my leg down from the chair. Taking the umpteenth deep breath of the day, I kneel in front of him. My heart pounds as I lick my lips, hands clenching and unclenching in my lap.

Snow squirms a little, watching me, and I can see his blush spreading to his chest. “Are— are you going to, uh—”

I pull the head of his cock between my lips.

**SIMON**

“Ohh…” My voice wavers embarrassingly.

I’ve never gotten a blowjob before. It’s warm, and wet, and watching his lips wrap around my cock is making my toes curl. (I can’t look away; it’s mesmerising.) (No pun intended.)

He leans forward, pulling more of my cock into his mouth, and my thighs start to twitch without my permission.

“Baz,” I whine. “Fuck, please…”

He pulls back a little, until just the head is in his mouth again, and my cock is cold where it’s wet. His tongue slides over the tip and circles the slit there. A little moan escapes me.

Slowly, he slides down my length, then bobs back up to the tip, over and over. The feeling is intoxicating.

“Have you… done this before?” I rasp, genuinely surprised by how good he is with his mouth.

For the first time since he started, he meets my eyes. He hesitates, flushing, then pulls off with a wet pop that makes my cock twitch.

“Never,” he mumbles. “Why? Is it bad?”

I snort. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’re a natural, mate.”

His eyebrows shoot up, but I can’t quite read his expression. “I mean, I’ve seen videos.”

“Fuck,” I say, because my brain is too fried to think of anything else to say.

He waits for a moment, because I haven’t really said anything to indicate the conversation is over, then gently presses his lips to my cock again, eyes darting down.

He starts bobbing again, and I can’t take my eyes off him. His hair is starting to fall into his face; a strand of it sticks to the corner of his mouth from all the spit.

All at once, he pushes up towards the base, clearly trying to fit as much in his mouth as he can. It feels so good that I don’t want to stop him, but I reach out and grab his shoulder before he can choke himself on my cock. (As hot as that sounds.) He glances up again, and his eyes are so wide and so grey.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I laugh. “I doubt you lack a gag reflex.”

It should be weird, talking to him while he’s got my cock in his mouth. But it’s not.

Either way, he backs off a bit and lifts a hand from his lap to grip what he can’t reach. He moves his other hand, the one that still has a glove on, to press against my thigh, and even though the touch is soft, it sends a shiver down my spine. As he starts to bob his head again, he starts stroking what’s not in his mouth, slow and careful, and now I’m getting a handy and getting blown at the same time and it’s just so much. It’s like a buy one, get one free. (Er, well, I’m not buying anything, of course.) (But it’s good.) (Really good.) I didn’t realise a blowjob could even include hands, but I’m so glad this one does.

**BAZ**

At first, I was panicking. I was in my own head, worrying whether any of this was even good. Hearing Snow moan and seeing his mouth drop open definitely helped, though. At least I know this is doing something for him, which is kind of the whole point. And it’s pretty hot for me, too.

I’m not sure how to explain it, but sucking him off has revealed itself as a pretty big turn-on. Maybe it’s the taste—salty, mostly, but also like something distinctly Snow. Or maybe I just like having a bloke’s cock in my mouth. (Or maybe I just like having _ Snow’s _ cock in my mouth.)

Whatever it is, I’m positively squirming on my knees, trying to get any sort of friction on my rock-hard dick. Mostly, I just squeeze my legs together, now that I can’t subtly palm myself through my tights the way I did before. I wonder how he’d react if I started wanking with my free hand; would he be freaked out by how sexy I find this? In a perfect world, he’d grin at me and offer to help after I’d finished him off. The thought of it makes me groan a little, and my heart skips a beat. Have I given myself away?

He moans, going even redder, and his arms shake. I suppose it probably feels something like a vibrator, so it’s no wonder he’s reacting so strongly, but it’s still enough to make me blush too.

**SIMON**

After a while, Baz pulls his mouth off my cock. I open my mouth to ask what’s wrong, but he presses his lips to the side of the shaft, wet and sloppy, and my words melt until they’re unrecognisable. He slides his mouth up and down the length of my cock, slurping a little, and I have to grip the seat of the chair to keep myself from bucking my hips up. When he pulls me back into his mouth, he uses the excess spit to stroke a little faster.

I’m beyond overwhelmed, and the visuals are only making it worse. Or better, I suppose. Baz’s chin is covered in spit, and my dick is dripping with it, making little noises on every stroke. The way his lips stretch to fit my cock between them does something to my stomach. They’re all red and slick, too. It’s kind of gorgeous somehow.

Baz’s tongue wanders over the head of my cock, pausing to dip into the slit before lazily circling a few times. I shudder, biting my lip at the texture. It’s sort of gross, but also so fucking good, slimy and wet and smooth. He moves it underneath my cock, sliding against the point where the head and the shaft meet, and it’s like fireworks in my chest. I groan appreciatively, too ruined to articulate, and hope he understands how badly I want him to do it again. To my delight, he does, pressing up harder into the spot this time. I make a sound that I can only describe as a whine, flushing a little.

He starts to move his hand at the base, like he’s turning a key in a lock and can’t quite match it up, back and forth without stroking in the same way as before, and it’s somehow like a deluxe handjob.

“Baz,” I gasp, surprised by how much it actually sounds like his name instead of a jumble of broken moans.

He pulls his mouth off again, moving along the side like before. It’s brilliant, and it looks hot as fuck. I find myself loosening my death-grip on the chair, licking my lips as I watch him work. He keeps twisting his wrist as he does it, and the combination is making my head fuzzy. My eyes snap shut almost on their own, and my chest goes tight. I duck my head, feeling my chin press against the hollow of my neck, and try to steady my breathing.

“Baz,” I mumble, but my mind is a mess, and I can’t find the right words. “Baz, I— I won’t… I’m not gonna last…”

His mouth pulls me in again, and I’m momentarily drawn back from the edge.

Then he hollows his cheeks and sucks.

My thighs quiver, and I try to say something, anything, but it sounds like a sob, and my cock twitches and shakes, and the whole world feels like it’s on fire, and I forget how to breathe.

**BAZ**

When Snow comes to, I'm already wiping at my face with the sleeve of my suit. It doesn't do much against all the leftover spit and come, but I try. The salty flavour lingers in my mouth, and I find myself subconsciously moving my tongue around to reach spots where I can still taste some. (I hadn't planned ahead enough to realise I'd have to swallow, but at least it doesn't taste half bad.)

His eyelids flutter open, then closed again, then open.

I clear my throat, but my voice comes out raspy all the same. "How do you feel?"

He groans softly, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. "Um…"

I wait, squirming on my knees.

"I mean, I felt good. Really good." He pauses. "But, uh…"

"But what?" I ask, gritting my teeth.

"But… I don't anymore."

I want to scream. I want to throw something. I want to shatter glass. I want to fight someone. Because I've put in all this effort for naught, yes, but more importantly because I want Simon to live.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles, and my heart sinks.

"Don't be," I say quickly. "It's not your fault. We're going to get through this, okay?"

He looks skeptical, but tired. We're both so tired.

"Let's just take a break," I suggest.

He groans, pushing his hair back. "I guess, but… we should just call Penny. She'll know what to do."

I hesitate. "I think that should be a last resort. I don't want to drag more people into this."

“Then what do you think we should do, if you’re so sure we can fix this without her?”

Wincing at his accusatory tone, I look away, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “Um…” I scan the room, hoping it’ll bring something to mind. My eyes are drawn to the television, and I jump to my feet. “Where’s the remote?”

Snow blinks up at me from his seat, frowning. “What, for the telly?”

I nod, walking closer to the wall where it’s hanging. “I want to see something.”

He makes a little noise behind me. “Now’s hardly the time to put on Doctor Who, don’t you think?”

I shake my head. “Just— where is it?”

I hear the hiss of his suit and his feet padding across the floor, then he’s pressing the remote into my hand. I turn on the television.

A news anchor is speaking calmly to the camera as a headline runs across the bottom, and I’m relieved when I read it.

“Here, see?” I point to the words. “The news is still discussing the attack.”

Snow’s shoulder brushes against mine as he leans closer to the screen, but he doesn’t seem to notice. “Okay. So?”

I roll my eyes. “So, maybe they have more information on Vixen's power. Other people were hit with it before we took him down, yeah? The news ought to be giving the public tips on how to take care of it.”

Snow’s jaw juts out. “Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”

I turn up the volume on the television, listening carefully.

“... and as such,” the anchorman continues, “we thankfully have several reports from civilians. Unfortunately, these statements vary greatly between victims. Across the board, of course, victims are freed from their discomfort after engaging in sexual acts, but there is no one act that applies to every victim. It seems somewhat random, arbitrary even. It seems like the only way to solve the problem is to try everything they can think of.”

I swallow, glancing to Snow. His face is pale.

“Well, that was helpful,” I mumble. He shoots me a glare.

“So there’s no way to know,” he growls.

“Maybe there’s some sort of link they’re just not seeing yet?” I offer, but it sounds like a cop-out even to me.

Snow sighs. “I thought we were gonna have a breakthrough here.”

I bite my lip, flipping through a few more channels. It seems like all the other local channels are also talking about the attack, but each one is showing the same few quotes and images—until a talk show host lights up the screen with a video clip of Snow with his hand out, making the air in front of Vixen sizzle.

“Look, mum, I’m on the telly,” Snow grumbles beside me. I stifle a snort.

As the clip ends, the host snickers and says, “But that explosion is nothing compared to the one this viewer sent in.”

A vertical video appears beside him, shaky and grainy. I can see the colors of Snow’s costume standing out from the dull grey concrete, and it takes me a moment to recognize the dark shape against him as myself. It's hard to make out exactly what’s happening at first, so I lean in closer to squint.

And then the me on the screen moves back a bit, and Snow’s pixelated cock comes into view.

I almost drop the remote in my hurry to turn off the television, heat flooding my face.

“Holy shit!” Snow screeches. “Someone filmed us?”

"I mean, we were outside."

“Christ! My dick is on the internet!"

"Happens to the best of us," I try to quip, but he doesn't look amused.

"I'll die of shame if this villain doesn't kill me first."

I can’t find a proper response. Neither of us speaks for a few moments.

Snow sighs and turns away from the television, pacing the length of the room.

"Could be worse," I offer.

He glances up.

"Imagine if Vixen had woken up and ambushed us."

His blush spreads below his collar. "Crowley…"

I can see his paces start to slow, and he pulls on the fabric of his suit where it clings to his thighs. I think Vixen's power is building again.

“Well,” I sigh, “according to the news, at least we were on the right track with the,”—I shift my weight from foot to foot—“the blowjob.”

Snow nods, vacantly curling a piece of hair around his finger. “I guess we can keep trying small stuff, then. And we can save… other things… for if it doesn’t work.”

It hits me just how much of a virgin I am. “I mean, we’ve already… what…” I clear my throat. “What else should we try? Before—before the, um…” Is it obvious how few sexual acts I know of?

**SIMON**

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Baz stutter quite this much. His face is rather red, too, and his eyes keep darting around the room. It makes sense that he’d be flustered, but it’s still surprising.

“Well,” I hum, “besides the blowjob, there’s a lot of oral—”

“My jaw still hurts,” he admits. “Could we wait to try that?” He won’t meet my gaze.

“That’s fair,” I chuckle weakly. “Um, then…” I think to myself, feeling my insides protest as The Vixen's power churns my guts up. “How do you feel about grinding?”

His eyes go wide. “Grinding?”

“Yeah, we could just, like… rub on each other?” My face feels hot. “It sounds weird out loud.”

His mouth flaps open and closed a few times. “I…”

“It could be, uh, with clothes on?” I offer. “Just… you know. Friction. Pressure. That.”

I watch his Adam’s apple dip slightly. “That sounds… fine.”

“Right,” I mumble, then don’t know where to go from there. How is it we’re both still so flustered about all this after he’s already gotten me off twice?

He sets the remote down, still flushed, and rubs at the wide v-neck of his suit. “Should we… take a seat on the couch?”

I hesitate before saying, “I’d rather not get the cushions dirty. Maybe the bed is better?”

Baz bites his lip. “The bed?”

“Probably more comfortable than a chair,” I reason, but I know what he’s thinking. It’s one thing to be out here in the main room, sucking my cock, but going to the bedroom somehow feels a thousand times more personal, even keeping our clothes on. “I mean, if that’s not okay—”

“It is,” he cuts me off. “It’s okay.” He worries his lip between his teeth again.

“Oh.” I nod. “Sure. Well, uh…” I gesture vaguely in the direction of my room.

I think I can see the grey in his eyes getting swallowed up in black. “Lead the way then.”

I nod awkwardly and walk to the door, pulling it open to flick on the light before stepping aside to let Baz through.

“How chivalrous,” he smirks as he saunters past me.

I walk in after him, hands shaking slightly. I turn around to close the door, and when I face him again he’s sat on the edge of the mattress, his cape unclipped and set gingerly over a chair. My cock twitches a little in my suit, and I blush again.

“Um.”

He raises an eyebrow, and my stomach feels hot. “Yes?”

My throat goes dry. “I’m going to sit on top of you now. Like, uh. In your lap. Now.”

He pulls his lip into his mouth, sucking on it. “Okay.” I have no idea what he's thinking.

As my heart flutters frantically in my chest, I step closer. Carefully, I crawl onto the bed, holding myself just over his hips. My arms shake on either side of his body.

Shuddering, I lower myself onto Baz’s lap. A little sigh leaves my lips at the pressure on my cock. I lift my hands from the mattress and grip his waist almost instinctually, using the leverage to pull myself closer to his chest, and moan softly at the friction.

Then I look up, and Baz’s beet-red face is hardly an inch away.

Flushing, I duck my head. “Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” he mumbles, but I’m mortified. I’m sure it was just my brain short-circuiting, but it felt like we were going to kiss.

I swallow, squirming on his thighs, and carefully avoid his face by resting my chin on his shoulder. I squeeze his waist, and he grunts quietly above me.

Carefully, I press my hips down and grind against him in a circle. A moan wrenches itself from my throat—and, to my surprise, from Baz’s as well. I freeze, feeling unsure. Considering I’m rubbing on his lap, I should have expected him to enjoy it too, but something about hearing him moan just over my head caught me off guard.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, but his voice rumbles against my chest where our skin would be touching if we weren’t dressed.

I dig my chin harder into his shoulder, trying to focus on something other than how fuzzy my head feels. “Nothing,” I manage.

I roll my hips against him, and a shudder runs down my spine.

His hands find their place on my shoulders, keeping me pressed against him as my hips slide forward again.

Soon, I find a satisfying rhythm, rocking back and forth, letting my clothed cock slide against his stomach when I press just far enough forward. I let go and stop thinking about anything but keeping the motion going.

**BAZ**

I'm losing my mind. Snow's movements are slow and precise, seemingly designed to draw the loudest moans from me. The spots on my waist where his hands are clamped down burn— in fact, every inch of contact is like being set ablaze. Snow is like that naturally, I think.

I can't see his face because he's hidden himself away over my shoulder, which is a shame because I've discovered today that I adore watching his face scrunch up in pleasure, but I can hear him just fine. On every roll of his hips, he whines and gasps, chest heaving against mine. Sometimes he even lets out a little "ohhh…" that makes my toes curl.

I may not be able to see his face, but I can see the smattering of moles on his neck, and I want to lick the sweat off them. I know that's disgusting. It doesn't make me want it any less.

Snow's fingers tighten on the fabric of my suit, and he shifts in my lap, whining quietly. When I turn my head a bit to look, his ears are bright red.

He rolls his hips again, harder this time, and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from gasping. I don't know how much longer I can do this—sit here and watch him fall apart on my thighs, listen to the almost musical sounds falling from his lips, and, most importantly, not come. I've managed so far, but that was before he was getting me off too. This is different—close, and careful, and slow, and quiet somehow. It's too close to a fantasy, or a wet dream, or worse, a daydream. It's too close to thinking he could love me.

"Baz…"

I shudder, squeezing my eyes shut. He moans something else, but I can't possibly focus enough to understand it.

He pushes his hips down instead of forward, and a little squeak leaves him, then he's pressing his whole face into my shoulder instead of his chin, and I can feel his mouth working there as he mumbles to himself.

This. This is what intimate feels like.

**SIMON**

Every millimeter of my skin is slick with sweat, but my mouth is dry because I can't manage to close it, just pant and moan endlessly. It _ feels _ endless, at least. Like I've been here forever, like I've spent my whole life rutting frantically against Baz's abs. It's probably only been a few minutes, but it's all melting together impossibly. And it's good.

I wonder faintly if this is what people mean when they talk about magic, because I feel positively made of magic, like it's all pooling in my stomach, soaring across my body, flowing from every pore.

I don't think about it when I lift my hands from Baz's waist. I just loop my arms around his neck, and it feels right, like they were supposed to be there.

Baz stiffens (in more ways than one), and his fingers squeeze my shoulders for a moment before sliding down a little lower to grip my forearms so I have better range of mobility. Teamwork, I think somewhere in the back of my brain, and a little giggle slips past my lips.

Baz tugs me even closer, though I'd thought we were pressed as close together as two people could be. And yet, when he does it I realise I only want to be closer. I press my cheek into his neck, still digging my face into his shoulder. My skin prickles where we touch.

"Baz," I groan again. "Baz!" I can't remember how to say anything else.

And then—oh, and then—Baz noses at the crook of my neck, and I shiver. He pushes his face against me, and it's like he's sliding into place. I whine pitifully, pushing back to meet him, and he sighs a little. Neither of us has to say anything.

My hands shake, and I push them into his hair to steady them. He groans as my fingers graze his scalp.

I shudder, closing my eyes, and rock against his hips a little faster. I can feel the heat building between my thighs, and I know I'm close.

"Baz… I—"

He tightens his grip, and the world spins. I find myself laying on my back, staring up at the cracked ceiling. Baz straddles my hips, his hair hanging on either side of his face like curtains, and the expression on his face is enough to make me shiver.

"Oh, fuck," I mumble, knowing before he has to tell me that he's about to give me the best orgasm of my life.

He ruts hard against me, pressing down against my cock, and my gasp sounds like a sob. His face buries itself in my neck again, but he keeps himself above me, holding himself up with a straining arm. I clap a hand over my mouth, feeling the pleasure mount under his ministrations.

I can't help but buck my hips up, meeting his thrusts, and he groans with me.

The hand over my mouth clamps into a fist, and I bite down on it. It's not enough to stifle my scream when my orgasm hits me like a truck. The world feels the way static sounds, and the one thing tethering me to the earth is Baz's hand on my arm.

Bit by bit, the room manifests around me, and I know I'm panting, but it's like I'm watching someone else from far away. My body tingles and sparks.

**BAZ**

Simon is the most beautiful person—the most beautiful thing—I have ever seen. His face twists with pleasure, and I can't look away.

My ears pop.

Finally, I come. My stomach twitches, eyelashes fluttering as I fight not to close my eyes, and my body is so warm. Every ounce of energy seeps out of me, and I'm left slumped over Simon as he lays there, shivering.

I feel like I've just been through an earthquake.

**SIMON**

"Simon?" Baz murmurs, looking up at me from where he's resting his cheek on my chest. He's out of breath, too.

I don't respond right away.

"Simon?" He asks, and his eyes are soft in a way I can't describe.

"I… yeah. I'm here."

His shoulders lose the tension he'd been holding there, and he lifts himself onto his elbows, leaning over me. (I note the damp patch of his suit, and it occurs to me that he came, too.) (For some reason, I feel sort of proud of that fact.)

**BAZ**

"**Listen to me**," I breathe.

He shudders a little, cheeks ruddy, as the command washes over him.

His eyes search the room for a moment before landing on mine again. He's tired, naturally. But I would do anything for him. Anything at all. And I'm going to.

"I think we should go for it." My voice doesn't waver.

He licks his chapped lips. "What… do you mean?"

I swallow. "Do you want to have sex?"

He's awake now, eyes wide and muscles tense. "Are you serious?"

I nod, feeling slightly light-headed. "We both know it's going to happen. We keep putting it off, but you know— I mean, you know—"

"Yes."

My heart skips a beat. "Yes?"

He nods. "We could drag this out all day, or we could just…" His tongue darts out again. "Go for it."

I push my thumb to the collar of his suit, and it only occurs to me when I hear it hiss that I should have asked if I could undress him, but my heart is pounding in my fingers and my head is hazy. He doesn't complain, though. Instead, he sits up to reach around my neck again, this time to find the zipper there and tug it down with shaking hands.

This is happening. Really.

I pull his suit over his shoulders, down his chest. He's so tan, like he's made of gold. It's blinding. He helps me tug the fabric over his hips, then kicks it off, and it lands somewhere on the carpet. I brush my lips against the bone that juts out at his ankle. He doesn't mention it.

I shouldn't be surprised when his hands pull at my suit, but I am. This is the first time he's seen me without so much as a shirt, and it shows in the way he ogles at my collarbone before shoving my suit over my waist. Then my cock is free, still glistening with fresh come, and he pauses to stare once more. It'd be embarrassing if I weren't cataloguing all of this for my spank bank. He slides the suit down my legs, tosses it atop his own on the floor.

We both freeze. Now that we're starkers, I don't think either of us knows where to go from here.

"I…" Snow starts, and blushes.

A moment passes, both of us hesitating. I lean close and press my face to his neck, the way I did before. We fit like puzzle pieces. A miniscule sigh leaves him.

Carefully, he lays back down without a word, and his smile is like the sun. I watch him, drinking in everything about this moment, before settling myself between his legs.

"It won't hurt, will it?" he asks, biting his lip.

"Maybe a little," I admit. "Do you want me to be the one to—"

"No!" he yelps, then goes red again. "I mean, no. This feels… I dunno. Right?"

"I know what you mean," I laugh. And it's true.

He clears his throat. "Just so you know, I've never… uh…"

"Had sex with a bloke?" I ask. He starts to open his mouth, then closes it to nod. "Me neither," I snort. I've always wanted to, though, I want to say. With you. "Do you have lube?" I ask instead.

His eyebrows fly up, and he stumbles over his words for a moment before pointing to the bedside table. I pull open the top drawer and almost laugh when I see that he hasn't even remotely tried to hide the bottle or the box of condoms.

I roll one on before I can forget, then drizzle lube over the length of my cock. I cover my fingers in it, set the bottle on the nightstand for easy access, and glance up to look at him again.

"You're sure? I can still—"

"Please." He swallows hard, but doesn't break eye contact.

I push his legs further apart with my knees and gently coax him to plant his feet on the bed with my free hand. Then, gently, I press my fingers to his rim. He jumps a little, yelping.

"That's cold!" he whimpers.

"Sorry," I laugh.

I push again, slowly starting to rub at the pucker of his hole. He begins to relax, letting his head fall to the mattress as I work. Then, carefully, I slip a finger in. A puff of air leaves his lips, and his knees fall open a bit further.

I slide my finger in as far as I can manage, then slide back out, pumping it a few times before adding a second finger. All the while, Simon keeps turning his head to rest his cheek on the mattress, then tossing his head to the other side, and I get the feeling he's enjoying this.

When I think he's stretched open enough, I pull my fingers free. He whines in complaint, and a bubble of warmth fills my chest. I reach past him and grab one of his pillows, then lift his hips with little resistance, settling him on it for a bit of support.

"Simon?" I ask quietly.

He peeks out of one eye at me.

"Are you ready?" I ask, heart beating furiously against my ribcage.

He takes a deep breath. "Yeah."

So I kneel between his legs, holding his hip with one hand, and line myself up. I press the head of my cock to his rim, slippery with lube. Then, slowly, I push in.

**SIMON**

"Fuuuuuuck."

If I thought we fit together perfectly before, now it's like an ancient prophecy is being fulfilled. I can practically hear the angels singing. Poems will be written about this moment. By me. I can't guarantee they'll be any good.

"Alright?" He asks, and when I look up his face is pinched.

"Alright," I groan. "More than alright."

Baz pushes the slightest bit further, and I can feel the moment he bottoms out, sunk in to the hilt. I flex my calves, and my toes dig into the sheets. Baz shudders, eyebrows twitching as if he can't decide whether or not to pull them together.

"Fuck," I grunt again, tipping my head back.

I'm so full, more than I thought was humanly possible. It almost burns to be stretched open this far, but I like it.

"I'm going to start moving," Baz tells me. I think it's meant to be a warning, but I whine in anticipation, reaching up to frantically fit my arms around his neck. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and it makes my stomach go all funny.

He starts to slide back, slowly but surely. The drag of his cock against my walls is intoxicating. I want, want, want, like I've never wanted before. And in that way where he seems to know exactly what I'm thinking lately, he jerks his hips forward again, filling me back up.

"Please," I gasp out before I know what I'm going to say. "Faster, please."

He groans, biting his lip, and his hips stutter on the pull. "God, I would love to, but I don't want to hurt you," he murmurs. His expression is so sincere.

"You won't," I tell him, even if I can't be sure. "Please, please, just— I want— Baz, I want—"

He thrusts hard and fast, and my body lights up.

"Yes!" I moan. "There, Baz, there, oh my god!"

He slams into the spot again, and my back arches off the bed. He hits it again, and again, and again.

**BAZ**

Clearly, I've found his prostate, and once more, Simon is lost to his babbling.

"Please! Good, so good, I want it so bad, I want you, Baz, please!"

It's gorgeous, the way he talks when he's this far gone. No inhibitions. Begging and moaning and saying my name like I'm worthy of praise.

I bury my face in his neck yet again, and it's enough to make him keen, high and needy. His fingers tangle themselves into my hair again, and I squeeze his hips in return.

His hole is so warm, and so fucking tight, and it's heavenly. I've never gotten anywhere near this level of pleasure with just my hand. Rationally speaking, I know that's to be expected, but some part of me is insistent on the idea that it's thanks to Simon, that he and I were made for each other, that his body was designed to wrap around mine like this.

I lift a hand to his cock, imagining how flushed it must be, then slide the lube still on my hand across it before starting to stroke. His whimper is delicious, and I smile against his neck. When I run my thumb along the vein on the underside of his cock, his legs jerk and tremble before suddenly wrapping themselves around my waist like it's life or death. (I suppose it is.) I know his ankles are crossed because I can feel his heels digging into my back.

“Baz!” He gasps, tugging lightly on my hair. “Baz, I— I want—”

I lift my head enough to speak, but do my best not to slow my thrusts. “What’s wrong?” I pant.

“I-I wa-ant…” his voice jumps every time I push in, then trails off.

It takes all my willpower, but I stutter to a stop, lifting myself onto my elbows. “Look at me, love. What do you need?”

He swallows, shifting under me. “Can you… pull out?”

“Of course,” I breathe, and slide out as carefully as I can. His legs fall slack again on either side of me. “Why—”

“Sit up,” he says, eyes bright. “Please?”

I'm confused, but I comply.

Grinning almost playfully, he crawls into my lap. He throws his arms around my neck once more, wiggles on his knees, and sinks onto my cock.

A long groan leaves me, both from the feeling of it and from watching my length disappear inside him. His jaw juts out in that way I think about late at night.

He presses his cheek to my shoulder, each breath shaky, and I think I feel his lips on my neck. His thighs flex, and he lifts himself up.

We're back to slow, quiet and close, and I have never loved Simon Snow as much as I do in this moment.

He starts to pick up his pace, growing more frantic—or maybe just more excited. Either way, he sounds out of breath, and the slap of his arse against my thighs is deafening.

"Please," he whines, even though he's the one in control. "Oh, god, please!"

I run a hand over the small of his back in what I hope is a soothing motion and lean close to his ear. "Hush, darling. You're doing so well."

That rips a dry sob out of him, and his hole quivers around me. "Please! Fuck!"

I wrap my other hand around his cock again and go back to stroking him. Almost immediately, his shoulders draw up, shaking.

"Baz…"

I pull his earlobe into my mouth, sucking on it a bit. It's gross, like everything I think about doing to him, but he doesn't seem to mind. He just squeaks and falters before continuing.

Watching him bounce on my cock feels like a dream. I never thought I'd have the privilege of something like this—of seeing him so affected that he has to take matters into his own hands and fuck himself like I'm nothing more than a toy. Except it's not like that, because he's still moaning into my shoulder, gasping my name, scrabbling at my back with his nails. (I hope he leaves marks.) It's everything I've ever wanted and everything I never knew was an option, and it's amazing.

"Simon," I groan before I can stop myself.

"Fuck," he mumbles against my skin in return. "Fuck, fuck, yeah, yes, god…"

I move the hand on his back a little lower and give his arse a squeeze, just because I can. He moans, hips twitching back into my palm, and a smirk plays on my lips.

"Baz!" he gasps. "Baz, I— I'm so fucking close!"

I can feel it, ready to go off in my stomach. "Me too," I whisper.

He keens, nosing at my throat. I speed up my strokes on his cock, watching his back arch, and give his head a good squeeze.

"Baz!"

Simon melts in my lap, still vaguely trying to keep riding me but failing miserably. He devolves into a mass of trembling limbs before my eyes, and his head lolls to the side enough for me to see his blissful expression. I want to take a picture—no, I want to capture the moment in brushstrokes. He rivals all the gods in classical paintings anyhow.

I keep my eyes open for as long as I can, but my orgasm overpowers me, and the warmth in my stomach spreads to my fingers and my toes and my face until it forces my eyelids to close and my head to tip back. It feels too good to complain about not being able to see Simon.

I come floating back down to Earth, and Simon's hands are pressed weakly to my chest. His hair is plastered to his forehead with sweat, and come splatters his chest. (And mine.) (Some primal part of my brain is excited about this—he's marked his property.)

I don't have the energy to speak, so I don't. I lift Simon off my cock as carefully as I can, and he flops down onto the bed, chest heaving. Before anything else, I throw the condom into the bin, heart pounding. Then, slowly, I lay down beside him. At first, we're both spread eagle, staring at the ceiling, but after a while I find myself curled around him, my chest flush against his back. We're both supremely sweaty, so it's absolutely disgusting, but I can't be bothered to care.

I press my face into his damp curls, breathing in the smell of him. Neither of us speaks for a good long while.

Finally, I break the not-quite-silence. "How do you feel?"

He doesn't respond right away. Then, quietly, "What?"

"How do you feel?" I ask again. "Do you think… it's over?" I don't want to know the answer.

"Oh, shit."

**SIMON**

"What?" Baz asks above me. His voice is slightly muffled by my hair.

I bite my lip. "We… we did this because of The Vixen."

He nods against me. "Right. Are you… you know…"

"Um."

"Don't tell me that wasn't enough?" Baz asks, but I can't tell if he's angry or not.

"I think… I think I've been okay since we grinded on each other," I admit.

The room goes eerily silent.

"Excuse me?"

"I didn't realise," I tell him, and I'm not lying. "But I've been—the itchy feeling went away when I came before. I didn't notice until you asked me just now." I dig my fingers into the sheets. "I'm sorry, Baz."

"Don't be," he whispers.

I hesitate. "But you know. I… really enjoyed it. Villain or not." I wait to see if he'll respond, but he doesn't say anything. "And I wouldn't mind maybe doing something like this again." I can feel a blush creeping into my cheeks. "Not to mention that, uh, you're not nearly as much of a jerk as I thought you were. You've actually been sort of. Nice?"

Baz's hand runs over my shoulder, drawing circles on my skin.

"I love you."

My heart jumps in my chest. "You— What?"

"I love you," he says again, louder this time.

I turn over to face him. He won't meet my eyes.

"I don't understand," I manage. "You, we, I mean—we've always been rivals! When— How—"

"I've loved you since I met you," he says softly. "I love your eyes. I love your hair. I love your moles." His eyes flit to mine, then away again. "And I love your hope. I love your strength—physical and emotional. I love your sense of humour. I love the way you say my name. I love your laugh. I love you, all of you. That's why I agreed to help you."

I gape at him. I can't think of anything to say.

Since he met me? He's felt this way for years, and he never told me. We've been wasting our time bickering, and he loves me.

And as embarrassing as it is to admit, we worked well together today. We had some sort of chemistry. (Sexually, mainly, but we had a fair bit of banter going, too.)

And to be completely honest, I can't say all my staring has been completely heterosexual. Today, especially, my brain kept getting stuck on a loading screen any time I noticed his muscles or sharp jawline. I assumed it was because of my supervillain-induced sexual frustration, but maybe it was just a heightened form of my usual obsession with him.

“Maybe…” I start, then hesitate. “I know I’m a bit thick about these things. You know—feelings, and stuff." My ears are warm. "And I don't think I can tell you that I love you, because—because I don't know if I do."

Baz's eyes go grey. They're always grey, but this is different. "I understand. I just… needed to tell you."

"I wasn't finished," I huff. His eyes widen. "I don't know if I love you. But I think—" I bite my lip. "I think I like you."

**BAZ**

My heart is so loud in my ears—surely, loud enough to distort his words. I haven't heard him correctly.

But he just watches me with his lips slightly parted. (Mouth breather.) (It's sort of cute.) He doesn't correct himself, only waits for me to say something.

I find myself incapable of speech, so I lay there for nearly a minute, probably looking like a fish out of water from the way my mouth flaps open and closed.

"Baz?" He finally asks. "Did you… hear me?"

"I think so," I squeak.

He shrugs weakly. "I feel sort of silly now. If we'd sucked it up and talked about this before, maybe we could have…" Pursing his lips, he reaches up and pushes his hair back from his forehead. "I dunno. Not cocked it up as bad as we have, at least."

The dam bursts. I fall into a cacophony of giggles, holding a hand in front of my mouth. Everything is hitting me at once. The adrenaline. The fact that Simon is finally okay. The realisation that this could work. The pure, unadulterated love I hold for him.

Simon watches me, surprised at first before cracking a grin. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No," I snort. "Yes. Maybe."

His eyes crinkle fondly at the corners. "Baz, this might be a stupid question, but… could I kiss you?"

I flush. It's stupid, being embarrassed by the question after everything we've asked today. "Yes."

His ears go pink again. He hesitates. I'm not the only one who's scared.

His hand cups my cheek, and he moves closer until our chests are touching and our legs are tangled together.

Kissing him is better than I could have ever imagined.


End file.
